


Untamed Mind

by sapphicbaby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellamione Cult Discord Game, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Healer AU, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicbaby/pseuds/sapphicbaby
Summary: Crazy people were just that, right? Crazy. And there was nothing one could do about it except medication and therapy to try and make them a little more sane. But in the end of the day, they were still just crazy.Bellatrix Lestrange was the perfect depiction of insane, completely off the rockers.But Parvati said something, something about magical accidents, possessed looks and exploding magic.And Hermione was curious.(OR: Hermione studies crazy people in the wizarding world and Bellatrix is the perfect patient 001).





	1. Curious

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this way earlier than I anticipated, but, it's for the Cult, so... ;)
> 
> No beta, and English isn't my first language, so please, if you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out.
> 
> Not much happens in this chapter, I'm just setting the table, but I hope you like it anyways.

It was something Parvati said. 

Parvati was a healer-in-training at St. Mungo's, working with mentally damaged patients. She and Hermione would often meet for coffee in a little coffee shop in Diagon Alley. They weren’t that close in school but after Lavender’s death they had became friends, bonding over the loss of their roommate.

“I swear to Merlin, they’re something else. You know my mom was a psychiatrist in the Muggle word, right? I’ve seen crazy, but something about them being wizards and witches make them so much worse. And they’re not even criminals. I can only imagine what goes on in the mind of someone like Bellatrix Lestrange.” The Indian girl picked on a red velvet cupcake as she spoke. Frequently, she would vent to Hermione about her job, which was both mentally satisfying and exhausting. 

Hermione rubbed her arm at hearing the name. She didn’t like to talk about the Death Eater: it was enough of a burden having to deal with her sister on a daily basis. Not that Narcissa Malfoy was anything but polite towards her, but she was a constant reminder of that fateful night in Malfoy Manor. At least she wasn’t practically the copy of the dark witch like Andromeda was. She really liked Andy, but she could never look her in the eye.

But Hermione was still herself, was still as much as bookworm as the girl who had figured out the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets on her second year in Hogwarts, and she was curious. So, she sipped on her coffee mug and indulged the other witch.  
“What do you mean? People such as Lockhart and Neville’s parents?”

“Oh, no. Poor ones, they’re basically not even here anymore. It’s really hard to see. But no, I’m talking about what we call the “magical accidents”. That’s a euphemism if I ever head one. They’re people whose magic seems to have taken over their minds. They talk to you, you know? They make sense, and it looks like you’re talking to perfectly health people. But then, if even only one of their meds is delayed, something changes. The look in their eyes is something out of nightmares, I swear. Pure darkness. They look... Possessed. And if you do anything that triggers them... They don’t even need wands, magic just explodes out of them. Brady almost didn’t make it one time. He was too close, that idiot, thinking he’s some sort of crazy people enchanter. They should pay us a lot more to deal with that shit.”

The picture Parvati described reminded her of a story she heard a few years ago in the Hog’s Head Inn, a story about Ariana Dumbledore and how she was attacked by muggles, which rendered her magic uncontrollable. At the time, Hermione hadn’t spared the story much thought, seeing as she was busy trying to save the Wizarding World with her two best friends. But now, Hermione had a lot of time in her hands, and she was curious. Frankly, there wasn’t many mysteries that didn’t pick Hermione’s interest nowadays, for she was bored.

So, she went to the library.

The ministry’s library was twice as huge as Hogwart’s one, and, with her “war hero privileges”, how she liked to call it, there wasn’t much there she couldn’t access. She had been working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for two years now, after returning to Hogwarts for her last year after the war. She’d received letters from all the ministry departments except for the Department of Mysteries (including the Department of Magical Games and Sports, even though she sucked at anything sport-related), but her choice was obvious for her, at least in the beginning. She had long envisioned the many changes she could make in the Wizarding World regarding the magical creatures, but real life proved to be much harder. People would agree with her just to keep her happy because of her status in the wizarding community, but she had yet to see any real changes being put to action. In her first year after Hogwarts, The Prophet was always bugging her for an interview, but after she attempted to talk about her ideals in relation to magic creatures, they stopped sending her owls and resigned to harassing aurors Harry and Ron, and even Ginny, who was now playing professional quidditch. Hermione was resilient, but even she had to admit she was getting tired of working her ass off for naught. 

So, she started doing only what she was told to do, and tried to occupy her mind with other stuff. She had started with languages, a subject that had always intrigued her, ever since Harry spoke parseltongue in dueling class. In muggle world, any language had to be learned, and it was proven that, the older the person, the more difficult would be for them to learn a new language, as they were too set into their own language ways. But things didn’t work that way in the wizarding world, where the knowledge of a language could actually pass through inheritance or, in Harry’s case, through magic. It was as good as a subject for research as any, and the Golden Girl had been spending her time isolated in the library. Still, she would make an effort of grabbing lunch one of her friends sometimes in an attempt of not completely alienating the people who were still in her life after the one year anniversary incident. 

Opening the door to the quiet room, she looked around. The library had three floors, divided in more sections than Hermione could count, but the aspect of the room, with their medieval looking  
tables, shelves and grids, made the woman feel at home just as much as she did in Hogwarts, which was welcome feeling that the girl didn’t get to experience much inside the cold ministry building. Whereas in the school the students roamed the corridors talking, laughing and in an overall relaxed behavior, in the ministry the workers were always rushing somewhere, always had something to do, were always to busy to strike conversation other than the impersonal “good morning”. She didn’t get to see much of her friends in the workplace either, unless they had set up to meet for lunch or something else. 

Luckily for her, unlike in Hogwarts, the librarian (a tall, austere looking spanish guy named Rodrigo) in the ministry’s library was nothing if not extremely helpful, and they managed to find several books on the subject of magical accidents. Taking out a quill and a piece of parchment to copy anything that might be useful, Hermione began researching.

Five hours later, a paper plane poked the brunette’s face, causing her to finally look up from her book. It was a note from her department’s head, a tiny wizard that always bore a look of utter boredom, reminding her of the letter she was supposed to write for the Australian ministry concerning one of their many weirdly overgrown magical creatures, a flying lizard of some sort, related to dragons but not nearly as dangerous but decidedly more nasty looking, that had decided to go on a trip to the UK. The letter had been writing first thing on the morning, but the note served to make the witch realize the time. The library would close soon. Regardless, she hadn’t managed to accomplish much on her research. Magical accidents could go from “making your aunt inflate and fly” to killing a whole town, and many didn’t leave any mental scars other than the expected trauma. She had to narrow down her research, and for that to happen, she needed to understand better the circumstances that lead to a magical accident that caused mental scarring. She assumed she could try to ask Parvati, but the witch probably wouldn’t be willing to break any more confidentiality, and honestly, Hermione wouldn’t want her to. Those people deserved all the dignity they could have, being locked away in a facility for life. In due time, she would get the authorization she needed to work with them, but for that to happen, she had to build foundation for her work. That left her with the only two others cases she had info about: Ariana Dumbledore and Bellatrix Lestrange.

But Alvo Dumbledore was dead, and Abeforth hadn’t been present for the accident itself, he was only there for the aftermath, and she needed to understand the causes and characteristics of the accident if she hoped to be able to compare and pinpoint exactly what is the difference amongst the different types of magical accidents.

So there was really one answer right now.

“I guess a meeting with Narcissa Malfoy is in order”, she sighed to herself.


	2. You owe me

Looking down the window of her bedroom to Muggle London, the symphony of cars always made her feel just a tad bit better. She felt invisible, standing there in the tall building where dozens of other people lived. Muggles, specially, or so she thought. She didn’t know everybody yet, nor she hoped she would ever will, seeing as she would rather spend her nights curled up by her – electric – fireplace, with a book in hand, either letting herself be sent away to a whole other world if said book were to be fiction, making the engines in her brain rapidly turn while trying to make sense of some complicated theory or just absorbing information that could later prove useful for her research.

The few people she did know almost all resided on her floor: the couple with little twin kids, who always made her feel a pang in her chest for the life she had always thought she wanted, the girl who was about her age but had such a different lifestyle, seeing as Hermione would always hear her coming home late at night whenever the Gryffindor’s dreams became too much and she couldn’t sleep, and the bachelor who always had a pick up line ready for her whenever he wasn’t already sporting some too young chick. And then, there was the only other person she knew that didn’t live in her floor, whom she had met by chance when she was running late and decided to get in the elevator and it was in its way up. The elevator doors opened to the penthouse, and, seeing as Hermione had been staring at the floor, her mind not fully awake yet, she was graced with the image of a black Christian Louboutin scarpin cladding creamy colored feet that continued up turning into oh so long legs, something the Golden Girl could tell even if they were covered by the dark-green velvet pants that were a part of the three-piece suit, which included a button up waistcoat-like shirt with a deep neckline that showed too much cleavage to be appropriate to work (at least that’s where it seemed the woman was headed, if she took into account the black suitcase). And Hermione gasped. Audibly so. The woman was talking to someone in her phone, luckily, and apparently hadn’t payed her any mind, only saying a quick “good morning” while attempting to smooth down the light blonde bangs that covered her forehead, even if they were already perfect looking, just like everything about the striking woman, as far as it concerned Hermione.

Ever since that day, she would always delay her leaving the apartment in hopes of catching the elevator while it was heading to the penthouse, just to be able to be in the presence of the woman for the couple minutes it took the elevator to get to the atrium. It usually worked a few times a week. And, while Hermione never said anything besides the good morning they shared, the woman would sometimes flash her a mischievous grin right before turning to face the elevator doors, and that never failed to make her blush.

She didn’t know why she did it, she just knew she liked the somewhat mysterious aura to the woman.

Putting down her coffee mug in the sink, she prepared herself to leave her treasured apartment. She was still expecting an answer from Mrs. Malfoy, but she needed some validation on her work before attempting to get to know her former nemesis on a more intimate level, even if through her sister. So, she had asked Harry to meet her for breakfast before work, in hopes he would be able to understand and even have some input about her research. And maybe, even, explain to her why the hell she as doing that in the first place. The work could help a lot of people, yes, but it couldn’t be all good to her already fragile mental health to dig out the life of Voldemort’s second in command without at least someone to support her if she were to fall.

Unfortunately, she didn’t see her neighbor that day.

* * *

Playing nervously with the pancakes in her plate, she waited for her best friend to finish reading the notes she had taken throughout the week. Even if she had realized the need to contact Narcissa in her first day of work, she still dwelled on owling her. The thought of contacting Draco instead went through her mind, but, even if the boy had became a much nicer person to be around, she supposed he wouldn’t be able to provide much information regarding his aunt’s childhood. While the girl wasn’t afraid of Narcissa nor did looking at the witch triggered her like looking at Andy did, she could still remember the cold, detached look when their eyes met from a brief second while her sister carved Mudblood on her arm.

‘Nothing new to her, I guess.’

So, she had looked at all the books she could find on the subject that weren’t too specific so she wouldn’t stray from the path (not that she knew yet what said path was exactly).

“Well, I’m not an expert, but I’d say that seems pretty solid. I wonder how no one thought about this association yet. Who are you planning on using as a first subject?” Harry looked at her expectantly.

Hermione fidgeted with the hem of her shirt while answering.

“Actually, you’re not going to like it. I’ve sent an owl to Narcissa Malfoy.”

  
“But Narcissa isn’t… Oh.” He paused and looked at his friend like she’d grown a second head. You mean you’re studying Lestrange.” He had a weird look in her face, as if he was waiting for her to contradict him. When she said nothing, only sipping her juice, he sighed. “Have you really thought this one through? Does this have, perhaps, something to do with your own… Episode?”

She looked at the face of her best friend, still unmarred by age. If you didn’t know what you were searching for, he still looked like the boy she had convinced to defy Umbridge and create the DA, with the same kind but determined look in his eyes. But she knew better, and the war marks were there, you just had to look for them. But sometimes, when they were talking about Sirius, Dumbledore, Tonks, Lupin, or any of the fallen ones, it became painfully obvious the boy across from her was actually a man who had lived through things no one should have to.

“Well, I know it’s not ideal, but at the same time, it’s just perfect. When someone says ‘crazy’, who’s the first person you think about? Aside from Voldemort, but he was a downright psychopath and I doubt he would fit in the study. And no. While it may have left me with some… Issues to deal, it was nothing like the kind of experiences described in some of the books.”

“Do you even know if she actually had a magical accident?”

“Well, not for sure. But it makes perfect sense! I’ve seen some of her Hogwarts records. She beats me by one N.E.W.T., I actually thought about taking Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies just to overcome her, but I would need a time turner for that, and the UK ones were all destroyed in our fifth year. Also, she was captain of Slytherin’s quidditch team. I’m telling you, it doesn’t add up. Something must have happened.”

“Well, if you’re so sure about this, go on. But if it ever becomes too much, I’m here. So is Ginny. And _Lu._..” The witch sent one dark look in his direction, making him shut up.

“Don’t.”

“You know it’s true. You just don’t wanna face it yet. I don’t blame you, and I know _she_ doesn’t too. But _she_ was the victim there, and if _she_ is able to forgive you, you should be able to forgive yourself.”

“Neville still hates me. _She’s_ just too forgiving, too kind. Always was, even when we bullied her. I think she would be able to forgive even someone like Lestrange.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. But it’s okay, I get you’re not ready yet. But you’re going to have to face _her_ someday.” She guessed he was right. She couldn’t keep hiding forever, but, for the moment, she decided she would pretend she could. “On another note, Ron’s been asking about you. I know things ended badly for the two of you, but you always complemented each other. I think you should owl him.”

* * *

“If by complemented you mean I made up for his lack of effort in basically everything, than you’re right, we were perfect. I don’t know. I would like to be his friend, sure, but I think the wound is too fresh.” She didn’t know if she had the right to be bitter, but she was. Yes, she fucked up, but he wasn’t there for her when she needed him.

After that, the two friends exchanged some small talk about work, Ginny and Hermione’s parents. A couple months after the war, she was finally able to track them down. It took some convincing for them to want to move back to the UK, but, when Hermione called her mom crying less than a year later, they moved back quickly.

Harry, ever the gentleman, payed the table and they walked in companionable silence to the cabin that allowed them to get to the ministry.

Hermione curled one strand of hair around her finger, face buried in the paperwork she had to fill about the Australian lizard situation. There was a knock, and the head of the department’s secretary popped up in the doorway.

“Miss Granger? Mrs. Malfoy is here to see you.” At hearing that, she pressed her quill a bit too hard on the paper, making the black ink pool on top of her neat handwriting. “She doesn’t have an appointment, but she says you contacted her yourself.” The young boy, freshly out of Hogwarts, looked at her with a disbelieving face, as if it were impossible for her to actually have contacted Narcissa. Well, she didn’t blame him, she would have thought it impossible too just a couple weeks earlier.

“I did, didn’t I?” That last part seemed to have been said more to herself than the boy. “Please, send her in.” When the boy left, she got her wand out of its holster on her right arm. Quickly murmuring a “Tergeo” to clean off the ink from the file, she took a look around the room. She wasn’t exactly a messy person like Ron, but her desk would sometimes become crowded with books, parchment and quills whenever she was working. For some reason, she didn’t want the blonde haired woman to see it. It was too herself, and Hermione didn’t want to feel vulnerable in the presence of any of the Black sisters (including Andy, which wasn’t something the girl was proud of). So, with a few wand movements, she cleared her workspace, pilling the files neatly on a shelf and organizing the stationery items on her desk.

A soft knock was heard, and Narcissa Malfoy entered the room. She was dressed in what looked like very expensive robes in midnight blue, and the color gave the older woman a powerful look that seemed to contrast with the collected, if not afraid then at least cautious look on her face.

“Hello, Miss Granger. I was very surprised to receive your owl. I would have answered it, but it seemed strange to do so seeing as we are just a floor away from each other.” Hermione blushed. It did seem silly sending a letter to someone who was a coworker she saw everyday, but she had her reasons, none that she would be comfortable discussing with the blonde.

“Well, thank you for coming, Miss Malfoy. Please, sit down.” The woman complied, and Hermione sat down on her own chair, trying to figure out how she should explain things. “The reason I contacted you is, you see, I’ve been doing some research. Specially, research about magical accidents and it’s effects on the mind of the… Perpetrator, for lack of a better word.” Looking at the woman’s face, Hermione searched for any signs of recognition, any signs that would point the woman knew what she was asking of her without her having to say it out loud. Unfortunately, she didn’t find any.

“I see. I’ve done my fair share of research about healing, but that field is new to me. I would very much like to hear what exactly you are thinking about. But I don’t think my past job as healer is what made you decided to come to me.” It wasn’t. Actually, Hermione didn’t even know the woman had been a healer. She didn’t know much about the witch, in reality. She only knew that which Harry had told her, or she’d read in one of the tabloid newspapers. And, seeing as Harry was the one to make sure the Malfoy family got away without serving any time in Azkaban, she guessed she knew a little bit about Lady Malfoy’s currently situation. While she and Draco had been let off the hook, Lucius would be forever confined to the walls of Malfoy Manor. Hermione expected her to resign herself to being with her husband, so she was really surprised when she showed up for her first day of work and saw the woman working in the Department of Magical Cooperation. Apparently, the woman had some important connections around the world, important enough for people to overlook her past as, if not a Death Eater, at least a Voldemort symphatizer. Hermione didn’t think that was fair, at all. They had risked their lives and lost many of their loved ones to fight the very same people Narcissa had been willing to house in her home. But Harry would always go on and on about how she saved his life, and she loved the boy too much to keep him from pursuing something he thought was right, even if she didn’t agree. But now, she supposed she should be thankful that the woman wasn’t behind bars. As for Draco, she hadn’t seen him much. Legend said he had been traveling, but she didn’t know where or why. Honestly, she didn’t care.

“You are right, Miss Malfoy. As you probably already know, even if you never really dug deep into it, magical accidents are notably common in our world, specially among children who haven’t learned how to control their magic yet. But it would seem that those magical accidents have some kind of aspect to them that makes them take its toll on the person’s mind. But that’s where the literature gets really sparse. Other than a healer’s notes on a few cases he came across at work, there’s not much about what that aspect would be. I was hoping to be able to get some deeper insight on those experiences. But, for that to happen, I would need the type of authorization I can’t get while working on this department. So, I plan on requesting to be moved to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes as a researcher. That way, I’d have access to the files I need, and maybe even be able to interview some of the people involved.”

“But you think you need something substantial to prove it’s worth the trouble.” The blonde completed, her face now serious, and Hermione wished she was better at reading people. “You don’t actually need it, you know. You could just bat your eyelashes and someone would be here to escort you to Magical Accidents best office in a heartbeat. Aren’t you friends with the Minister?”

“Yes, I am indeed friends with Kingsley. But, some of us don’t use our friends, or, how would you say, our connections, to benefit us in every single thing we need. Some of us like to work hard and earn it.” If Narcissa caught on to the not-so-hidden insult, which she most certainly did, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she just adjusted herself in the chair, propping her elbows on the desk that stood between her and Hermione, a subtle act that made Hermione feel intimidated. Swallowing the lump on her throat, she continued. “Besides, you owe me.” It was a dirt trick to use. She didn't even know if it would, for she didn't really know if the woman behind her had any conscience, let alone a guilty one. But, remembering the look she had when she first entered the room, Hermione decided to take the chance. And it worked.

“Very well, Miss Granger. _What do you need me to do?_ ” She asked, stressing the words, making them sound almost dirty, without losing her poise, and Hermione blushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope that's any good. I've been struggling with writing, specially since there are so many wonderfully written stories in this website, and I can't help but compare myself to them and ohgoshIsuck. Specially with descriptions. But, I'll keep pushing myself and I won't try to avoid scenes that require descriptions, and I hope I'll learn.
> 
> If you find any mistakes, feel free to point them out! Constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> Also, who can guess who inspired the neighbour looks?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I didn't talk much about our war heroes 'cause I have something planned for them (it has to do with the one year anniversary incident), and, quite frankly, I have no idea what to do with Ron yet 
> 
> Let me know if you like it, hate it, if there's something that doesn't add up or isn't coherent with the books (I read the portuguese version of the books, so maybe somethings are different, or it may be intentional). It's my first fic for this fandom and the first thing I wrote in a few years, so, please, be kind lol
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
